Waiting for Superman
by SmurfyFriend
Summary: None of them would ever forget the day their worlds practically ended. When their country was safe no more. When they found themselves waiting for a self-proclaimed Superman, and their self-proclaimed Superman never came. Pairings: FACE Family, and USUK if you squint and tilt your head


**HEYO! **

**Just dropping a story on y'all. Wild hare crossed my ass and wrote something up xD Was listening to Daughtry's Waiting for Superman, and this popped into my head. **

**So, Yeah. not a lot to say XD **

**I don't own Hetalia, if I did there would be more SuFin and FrUK and GiriPan xD**

**Reviews are better than pasta, Favorites make artists happy, and drugs're just baaad, mmkay?**

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><p>Clouds decorated the reflection on the windows of a bumblebee yellow taxicab in the colossal American city as the vehicle inched its way through midmorning traffic. Its gentleman passenger gave a quiet sigh, running one hand through shaggy blonde hair and questioning silently why he even bothered to leave the apartment.<p>

A quick glance to his phone, and the obviously worried text messages from his adoptive ward and lover/assistant child wrangler provided an answer.

Weekly Family Breakfast.

Not that they exactly made for a functioning family anymore.

The gentleman gave another quiet groan and checked the watch on his wrist. Five past ten. He knocked on the glass window that separated him from the driver. "Excuse me," He spoke, British accent thick in his voice. "You can let me out here… I can just walk the rest of the way."

The driver simply gave a grunt of acknowledgement and checked the meter. "That'll be Twenty-seven fifty."

"Bloody Hell." The man muttered under his breath, fishing a twenty and three five-dollar bills from his Union Jack billfold wallet. "Here. Keep the change."

The taxi driver gave another grunt of acknowledgement. "Thank y' sir. Have a good day, Mr. Kirkfield."

"Kirk_land_," Arthur corrected, irritated as this had been the third time he had had to correct him. "Wing Commander Arthur bloody _Kirkland, _mate_._"

"Apologies, sir." The taxi driver didn't exactly sound apologetic as he turned back around and shifted his car into gear. "Have a good day then, Commander."

Arthur stood on the sidewalk, watching the taxi fade into the waves of traffic and resume anonymity among the dozens of identical vehicles. Once the taxi was long out of sight, and the British officer had his thoughts sorted out, he stuffed his hands in his trenchcoat pockets and started walking through the New York crowds.

Arthur never cared much for crowds. He was usually a rather quiet, introverted man that kept to himself and afternoon tea. Even in his time in the Royal Air Force (followed by joining the American Air Force as soon as he got his green card), he was notorious for being quiet, calculating, often hot tempered, but never fond of speaking in front of people other than his comrades. Arthur yawned loudly, his jaw stretching with effort, and stared out at the clouds barely visible through the skyscrapers. He could've sworn he saw the "Flying Mint Bunny" toy he was so fond of as a child, right next to a cloud that looked like an alien in a flying saucer.

Arthur smiled, his heart hurting. It had to be His doing.

The British man shook the thought and hurried along his way, trying to get to the café he was supposed to be at ten minutes ago. The crisp fall wind ruffled his jacket, making the Brit retreat slightly into the warmth of his favorite green knit scarf. It was getting colder out…. Pretty soon he would be dressing for the snow. Arthur hated the snow… Almost as much as he hated Fall now. He genuinely wondered why he even stayed in the damned city. He, and the rest of his family, had transferred here years ago because he was stationed not far outside of the city, but since he was retired, there was no real point in staying any longer. Especially when one could barely afford to live in the city anymore with the bloody recession!

A large gust of wind shook Arthur from his thoughts as his neck became exposed to the cold air and his green scarf blew away. "Bloody Hell!" he exclaimed, giving chase in the other direction.

He muttered quiet apologies as he bumped into people, dodging bicycles and dogs, and the occasional newspaper box. When he'd finally caught up to the runaway scarf, it had curled up around an old telephone box, not six inches away from a murky puddle. "Bullocks!" Arthur muttered, "At least it missed the puddle…"

As he went to put the scarf back around his neck, something caught his eye that almost made it drop from his hands. There, on the street corner, He stood.

He had short blonde hair the color of golden honey. Even at the distance Arthur stood at, he could see soulful sky blue eyes, and the too- familiar glasses they hid behind. His dark brown bomber jacket was zipped up to shield from the cold, and dark jeans hung loosely from his waist. Arthur felt his words leave him as he went to approach the young man. "A-Alfred…" his voice came out as barely a whisper.

Arthur made his way to the street corner the man stood with huge smirk spread over his face and a wave shaking his hand. When he was almost in reach of the young man, someone bumped into him, blocking his view and causing Arthur to break his glance for barely a moment. But by the time he had muttered an apology and looked back, Alfred was gone.

Arthur felt tears flush his eyes and his knees grow weak. He slowly sank to the ground, breaths coming out in quiet sobs and hands shaking uncontrollably.

_Why would he be here anyways?_ Arthur demanded of himself. _Get it together, old man, you're cracking up!_

A loud chorus of the Phantom of the Opera Main Theme song rang from his iPhone and brought him back to reality. With hands still shaking, he took the phone from his pocket and read the contact name. _The Damn Frog_. So Francis was calling. Willing his fingers to be steady, he tapped the green "answer" button. "H-Hello?" he tried so desperately to make it seem as though he hadn't been crying.

"Where on EARTH are you!?" Francis's voice sounded worried, "We've been waiting for almost twenty minutes!"

Arthur picked himself up and walked briskly back the way he had come from. "I'm sorry, I just got stuck in traffic… Go ahead and order, I'll be there in two minutes."

In exactly three minutes, Arthur reached the Café they were to meet and found where Matthew and Francis had reserved a table. "I'm so sorry I'm late," Arthur apologized, and decided on a white lie for an excuse. "The cabbie was a bit of a cabbage."

The blonde sitting next to Francis gave a soft smile and readjusted his glasses. "That's ok," His voice was quiet, "We're just glad you made it, eh."

Arthur had to shift his eyes away from Matthew to keep the tears away. They looked so damned ALIKE… Seeing Matthew now hurt in a way Arthur hated himself for. He could barely even look at Matthew anymore, and it hurt him, but if he did so much as glance at him, he would see His face and his heart would shatter again. They _were _identical twins, their resemblance was no shock to Arthur. The British man took his usual seat beside Francis, leaving a fourth seat between Matthew and himself vacant. Arthur had to look away from that, too. It hurt too much after seeing Him today. He barely heard the idle conversation between Matthew and Francis about work, or French cuisine, or hockey practice, or whatever it was they were talking about today. Nor did he feel his lover's gentle absentminded caresses over his rough hands.

No, the British officer could only hear the sirens, that sad, lonesome wail they made. Or the panicked muttering of the crowds, the chaos among the passersby. Or-Dear God- the desperate chirps of distress signals, so desperate to be heard but hidden under rubble…. "Arthur," Francis's soft voice was laced with concern. "Are you alright, Mon Amour?"

Arthur tried to speak, but found that his voice had left him completely. He looked up at Francis with pleading green eyes. Francis saw his distress, and immediately knew the reason for it. He wrapped the slightly younger man in a tender embrace. When he felt the Brit shake and shudder, sobs muffled by his shirt, Francis rocked slightly. "I know." He said softly, so only the three of them could hear. "I miss him too."

"I s-_SAW_ him, Francis." Arthur could barely speak through his tears, "I _saw_ him, that's why I was so late…"

Francis hugged Arthur tighter, shushing him in French and trying to keep himself from falling to pieces like Arthur. "I know how you feel, Mon Petite Lapin." He said softly, "right about now, he'd come running in, late for Family Breakfast as always, because he'd lost track of time at the Laundromat in the morning, or he was on a late call for work…" Francis gave a jagged sigh. "Sometimes I swear I see him there… Where they used to be…" He swallowed the lump in his throat. "But when I look again, He's gone."

Arthur tried to get his emotions under control. He didn't want to make such a spectacle of himself. It wasn't the gentlemanly thing to do. "I see him every day." Matthew spoke quietly, so quiet they almost couldn't hear him. "Every time I look in a mirror, I see his face. Except when I look away, and look back, he's still there."

Matthew almost broke right there. "I-it's no wonder we got mistaken for each other so much." He squeaked, "I miss my big brother."

None of them would ever forget the day their worlds practically ended. When their Tuesday Family Breakfasts lost one attendee. When they found themselves waiting for a self-proclaimed Superman, and their self-proclaimed Superman never came.

It was hard enough on the family having a father figure in the Air Force for many years, but once he retired there was a significant amount of worry lifted. But that worry was transferred to a new target when their son and bother decided to become a firefighter. And that proved to be a thousand times worse.

Arthur could remember every detail of the day…Everything from what he was wearing to the fact he had forgotten to feed Iggy and Lafayette- the then kittens that Arthur and Francis had found on the streets. He could even remember what he wanted to order for breakfast. He remembered Francis teasing him with a French _Ohohon_ laugh for choosing something so stereotypically British. He remembered losing his temper at him and saying something about the crepes he was going to order.

He remembered exactly where he was the moment the first plane struck the tower.

He was in a small café, not a block away from the World Trade Center. He was laughing moments before, insulting Francis's cuisine, and commenting that Alfred would probably be late again, then burst through the doors declaring that the hero had arrived.

Instead, they heard a heart stopping explosion rock the entire city. Shocked, they looked around to see the source of the noise. Not five seconds after, a breaking news flash shone on the television, interrupting a rerun of _Friends_. The teacup in Arthur's hands dropped to the ground as he watched the broadcast of the burning tower, and the news commentary as it happened. His eyes were glued to the television, mouth hanging open in shock. However, his heart leapt into his throat when the newscasters mentioned Emergency and Rescue teams.

"Alfred…" his voice was a whisper.

He moved from the spot where he stood, slowly at first, but gaining speed at the thought of his son, his Superman, in danger.

Once he reached where the police had blocked off the area, Arthur desperately searched the crowd of emergency workers, searching for Alfred. After a few moments of searching, Arthur saw the telltale glasses and trademark grin emerging from one of the towers, a small, dark-haired child in his grasp. "Alfred!" Arthur cried out for him.

Alfred looked up, passing the child to a waiting paramedic. He ran over, removing his helmet from his head. "Dad, what're you—"

"Alfred, You can't go back in there," Arthur pleaded, "Please, Alfred, stay out here with the other Marshalls. Y-you could be killed in there!"

Alfred shook his head firmly, "I can't do that, Dad." He said, "There's still a lot of people in there, and they need EVERYONE."

"B-but… B-but…" Arthur's words died in his mouth. His gut felt as though his words had settled into one gigantic lump.

"'_Through Adversity to the Stars,_' '_That Others May Live.'" _Alfred rehashed the words his father lived by, giving the man a salute. "Isn't that what Wing Commander Kirkland taught his boys to live by?"

Arthur looked down at the ground, clenching his fists. He would be a hypocrite telling Alfred not to do his job. The British man wrapped the taller boy in a hug, tightly. "Be careful, damn it." He told him softly, "I love you, Alfred."

"I love you too, Dad." Alfred gave an apologetic smirk. "Sorry I can't make it to Breakfast… Tell Papa and Mattie I love them, 'kay?"

"I will." Arthur nodded, screaming internally.

Alfred looked back behind him, then plopped his helmet back over his honey-colored hair. "I gotta go, Dad." He said, looking back as he stated walking away. "They need me back there."

Arthur could barely speak as he watched Alfred disappear into the tower.

And out of his life forever as the tower he had entered collapsed.

A scream ripped through Arthur's throat, making him fall to his knees. His whole world ended right in front of him. All of the sounds around him were deafened by his own heartbeat, the sound of blood rushing through his ears. He couldn't even feel the hand of his own lover as he finally caught up to him, nor hear his voice through the crowd.

"Arthur? Arthur!" Francis's voice brought Arthur back to Earth. "Are you still with us, Mon Amour?"

Arthur looked back up at Francis, emerald eyes weary with age and pain. "Come on," Francis's voice was soft. "Let's do something different from Family Breakfast today."

Matthew and Arthur silently complied and started to follow Francis out the door (After Arthur insisted on leaving the waitress a tip, despite the fact they never even ordered food). After what seemed like an hour of walking, they reached what looked like two colossal reflecting pools, bordered by large, smooth black stone. Names were etched in on the sides of the stone, and there were flowers or small gifts left at a couple of them. The family of three walked silently to a part of the memorial they knew well. Etched on the rock side was the name of the Superman they had come to know and love, and miss.

_ALFRED FRANCIS JONES KIRKLAND_

Arthur reached out to touch the etched name, running his fingers over it. "My boy…" his voice was barely a whisper.

Francis hugged him tightly. "If life was a movie, it wouldn't've ended like that." He lamented sadly and Arthur whimpered. "With so little chance to say goodbye…"

Matthew cried silently, hands shaking. Francis simply hung onto both of them, trying to keep the tears from running down his face. "E-Excuse me," a soft feminine voice broke the moment.

Francis glanced over. A young woman with deep brown eyes and dark brown hair, and deeply tanned skin wearing a light blue sundress stood holding a single red rose. "I'm so sorry," she apologized, looking very contrite, "I hate to interrupt, but… Would it be alright if I stepped around you for just a moment?"

Francis nodded a little bit and moved his group hug over slightly. "Oui, Oui, of course mademoiselle. "Very sorry we're in your way."

"No, No, I'm sorry I asked." She looked very honest in her apologetic demeanor. "I usually wouldn't, I just got back from lunch and I'm running late for work."

Francis watched as she stepped around the family, then gently placed the rose down beside Alfred's name. "Thank you, Kind stranger," she said softly, "In all of the years of my life, I will never, ever forget your kindness Mr. Jones."

"Mr. Jones?" Matthew perked up. "H-How do you know Al?"

The girl smiled sadly. "He carried me to safety before the first tower collapsed thirteen years ago." She explained, "But I was told he died in the collapse so I never got the chance to thank him properly." She looked back at the name. "Everytime something good happens to me, I come here to thank my hero."

It took everything inside Arthur to not bawl. "How do you know him?" the girl asked.

"My twin brother," Matthew replied, his voice sad. "And their son."

The girl put a hand to her mouth in shock. "Oh my god…"

She extended her hand to Francis. "My name is Michelle Mancham, sir." She said, "And I wanted to say I'm so, so deeply sorry for your son." Her eyes watered. "I don't even need to know your son very well to say he was an amazing human being."

"Thank you, young lady." Arthur offered her a hand to shake, his eyes still watery. "Wings Commander, Arthur Kirkland."

"Francis." Francis introduced himself politely.

"Matthew." Matthew's voice was soft.

"It's so good to meet you three." Michelle smiled politely.

"Likewise, my dear" Arthur gave a small smile.

There was a silence that passed between them. But after a moment or two, Arthur spoke up. "Michelle?" he asked, "How would you feel about joining us for a family lunch?"

Michelle looked up at him with wide eyes. "I-I'd… I'd have to reschedule a couple of appointments," she said, "But… Why?"

"I-We'd- like a chance to get to know a little bit more about you," Francis said with a polite smile, "If Alfred saved you, it's a reminder to the three of us he didn't die needlessly… Besides, you said you came here whenever something good happened, so something good must've happened. Consider it celebrating."

Michelle looked too stunned for words. "Let me just call my assistant to reschedule those appointments, and let my office know I'm taking an extra couple of hours." She said, smile over her gentle face, "I'd be honored to join you."

As the family waited for Michelle to take care of her business, Arthur saw something out of the corner of his eye.

He smiled again, eyes threatening tears Arthur didn't even know he had left. There, in full uniform, stood Superman. His honey-colored hair shone brightly, neatly combed and spiked to look its best. His glasses glinted in the sunlight, proudly perched on the bridge of his nose. A smile was spread over his clean shaven face as he watched his family.

Arthur blinked away tears. "_I love you, son."_ He mouthed silently, "_And I'm so proud of you."_

Alfred simply smiled, saluted, and mouthed back. "_Through Adversity Through the Stars, That Others May Live."_

"All ready." Michelle's voice drew Arthur's eyes away.

By the time Arthur looked back, Alfred was gone.

"Alright, Mon ami," Francis spoke, "Where would you like to go for lunch?"

Arthur watched Michelle, a small smile over his face. She lived. Alfred saved her.

That Others May Live.

Superman did his job.


End file.
